Aurora
by JayBee-Bug
Summary: A short glimpse into Grissom’s subconscious mind. Doncha just wanna pick his brain? GS


Title: Aurora

Author: JayBee-Bug (jaybee_bug@yahoo.com)

Summary: A short glimpse into Grissom's subconscious mind. Doncha just wanna pick his brain? G/S

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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A thin sheet of ice-like glass, a barrier. The sunlight catches it and it sparkles, belaying the delicate, graceful construction of ice crystals. He approaches it with an expression of curiosity, that insatiable curious nature. Reaches out in a tentative, cautious way, and touches the flat surface, index finger first, followed gracefully by each fingertip, until his palm is pressed flat. At the point of contact, color seeps into the glasslike veil and spreads. As if heat-sensitive, it presses a handprint of swirling colors into it. He takes in a slow breath of surprise; as the color spreads, he can feel it on his hand. It's a tingly sensation, like the shiver down one's spine. As the color sinks further into the glass, the shades mixing and changing, he feels the wave, warm and chilling in tandem, spread from his hand down his arm, down his spine, down his legs, through the floor . . .

Then he jerks and pulls his hand away quickly, as if in shock, like he had touched something hot and burned his skin. He looks at his hand, but it is not burned; it merely triggered that reaction from him, and he's not even sure why. It felt overwhelming, somehow. Glancing up he sees the colorful handprint left behind on the thin film; it is fading. He watches until it vanishes, swallowed by the transparent crystal. Her voice materializes and observes gently,

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He blinks, unable to see her yet. It sounded like she had been there the whole time. He asks,

"What is it?"

He can hear the smile in her voice.

"I just told you."

She approaches close enough so that he can see her. She is standing on the other side of the glass. He sees her smile now.

"I was looking for something a little more concrete," he explains.

"Put your hand back up."

He shifts his stance to sink solidly into place, crosses his arms, and looks skeptically at her.

"What for?"

She returns his wary gaze with a patient, composed face.

"Just humor me, ok?"

He considers this and takes a step forward, reluctantly putting his hand back out. Presses it into the glass all at once this time, in a manner making it obvious he's clearly humoring her. The color begins to return.

She lifts her hand up like his partner on the opposite side of the looking-glass, and slowly sinks her palm against his own. As her fingers slide into place, matching his, he takes a genuine gasp this time, short and surprised, blue eyes gone wide. The colors of their palm-prints merge and bright scarlets and purples plume outward, like a blooming flower. Streaks extend from each finger, crossing over and painting an intricate web. His eyes focus on the pattern in fascination as it meanderingly shifts and changes and evolves right before them; little curls and delicate layers forming, the most intricate of spider webs.

His gaze phases back through the design to seek her eyes, and in that moment it seems to make sense. The flutter of sensations dancing across him, the strange constriction in his chest, the tightening of his throat, the odd tingling at the soles of his feet. The sense of not having enough air to breathe. The connection.

Pulling his arm away urgently, he takes one or two steps back. The pattern immediately is affected, the delicate curls collapsing, the folds closing in on themselves, the colors paling like a drying autumn leaf.

"Grissom!"

"_What?"_

She takes her own hand away, and the flower quickly disintegrates.

"Why'd you do that?"

He just shakes his head, looking what-- annoyed, confused?

"Experiment's over with."

She is watching him, a soft look of compassion and concern on her pretty features. 

"What could have possibly happened to you," she asks quietly,

"To make you recoil so readily from contact?"

She's not sure whether he even heard her. But he eventually looks up. The mask of indifference so easily slipped back into place, such a natural face for him.

"Let's not make this about me and get back to the case, shall we?"

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